I'll Live
by Hotshot
Summary: Set in the movieverse. Mark's thoughts following his conversation with Roger the morning after 'Out Tonight.' Now includes Roger Not slash, but may be implied if you try.
1. Mark Cohen

Disclaimer: The wonderful characters and song lyrics belong to Jonathan Larson. As for the stuff I stole from the movie script… well, I'm not exactly sure who technically owns it but it's not me.

I'll Live

Hotshot

Mark snatched his bag off of the bed and stowed his camera inside. He moved quietly out of his room once he had located and shrugged on his jacket. He was halfway to the door when he noticed his roommate. He had not even though Roger was awake with the loft as quiet as it was. But indeed the songwriter was awake, sitting on a bench they had shoved against the picture windows, glaring down into a cup of coffee.

"Hey," Mark greeted as he approached his friend.

Roger glanced up, managing an incoherent mumble that sounded something like 'hey.'

Mark took a seat and Roger watched him. He knew what was coming, they both did. Mark had met Mimi last night, been introduced to her by Angel after she'd had a screaming match with Roger from across the street. Mark had felt Mimi's pain; Roger shut everyone out. He would admit he could not claim to understand Roger's perspective; AIDS was a big deal.

He brought it up cautiously, "Look… about last night-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Roger interrupted sharply. He gave Mark a look.

The response was very typical of the musician. Roger never wanted to talk about anything. Mark was used to pushing Roger's buttons.

"You know Mimi's gonna be at Maureen's show tonight," Mark said carefully, "You should come too. I'd hate to see you pass up something that could be good for you." At this point anything that held Roger's attention would be good for him. Someone needed to get him out of the loft.

Mark watched as Roger swallowed hard.

"You'll only regret it," Mark took a final stab at provoking Roger.

Roger shook his head slightly before muttering, "I'll live."

Those two words had quite a lingering effect on the atmosphere of the air between the two young men.

Mark stood to head out, "Right."

He and Roger nodded to one another as he left. Mark closed the loft door quietly behind him and quickly descended the stairs. He was meeting Collins and Angel at their Life Support meeting across the city. Taping the meeting on Christmas day had had quite an impact on him. All these people who had been damned to suffer from this horrible disease and were so strong when you got them together.

As he climbed on the subway car and the doors closed he thought back to Roger's response. '_I'll live.'_ He shook his head; Roger could not throw words around like that anymore. Sure, he'd live, _this year_. For all they knew Roger could be dead and in the ground a year from now.

Mark shuddered at the thought. There were also Collins and Angel to think of, but they had each other to lean on. Who did Roger have? He didn't have April anymore. No sir, April had taken the easy way out, and Mark hated her for it. She'd left Roger alone the one time he'd really needed her. Mrs. Davis didn't even know Roger had AIDS, he'd never told her. He didn't plan on it either, not until he was on his deathbed. He could have this Mimi girl if he wanted, but Mark knew AIDS scared people away. Roger was too afraid of really feeling again to let her in. Maureen? No, not Maureen. Sure, Roger had gotten a kick out of Maureen's dumping of Mark for another woman, but he'd quickly dropped the subject. He had never really seemed to care much for Maureen either way.

So who did Roger have? Well, he had Mark. Mark had been there through it all. He'd been half a step behind Roger when he'd found April dead in the tub. He'd been there through the withdrawal and the fights. He'd been there through Roger's fits over his inability to write a song. He'd been there when Roger had been re-tested six months ago; just to be sure there hadn't been a false positive. He'd been there when Roger had gotten the results.

'_I'll live.'_

Those words shook Mark to the core. He sighed. Yeah, maybe Roger would live. Maybe this time he would get over it and get past it without a problem, but what about next time? Next time he went out and some old flame flirted with him? Next time that dancer came upstairs to borrow matches?

He had to face it, there might not be too many next times. If Roger got sick there might not be another girl, another chance, another song. When Roger tossed '_I'll live,'_ back in Mark's face he had really made Mark think about all of this.

Mark was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly missed his stop. As he left the subway station and entered back into the bright world above ground Mark blinked away the cobwebs that had been cluttering his mind. He was being so morbid. He had to stop doing that. It wasn't as though Roger was dropping dead right this second. However…

No. He had to stop thinking like that.

He pushed open the door to the Ryder Community Center and his feet found their way back to the small auditorium. There were only a few people there, pretty much the same group who had been there the day before. Angel threw her arms around him, an enthusiastic greeting to say the least. Collins just patted him on the shoulder, glancing toward the door.

"No Roger."

Mark shook his head, "I tried. You know how he is."

"Yeah," Collins rolled his eyes, "Stubborn little jackass."

Mark gave a small grin before glancing at Paul and inclining his camera. The leader of the group nodded and took his seat.

"Let's begin," he said quietly.

There was another round of introductions. Mark introduced himself with a considerable amount more ease than he had the previous day. He then moved to the opposite side of the group, standing near the stage and lifting his camera to look through the viewfinder.

'_I'll live.'_

The words echoed through his head again as he looked at the group in front of him. Some of them were sicker than others. Gordon's t-cells were low; Ali had lesions on her chest and back. Others were newly diagnosed and had yet to really suffer through the disease. Roger wasn't suffering yet. His suffering had been losing April, going through withdrawal. He had yet to be sick since his diagnosis.

As Mark started to film he realized that some of these people would never get to see his documentary once it was finished. They were all going to die from this disease at one point or another. They were going to leave their loved ones and their friends behind.

Roger was going to leave Mark behind.

Roger had been Mark's constant since before he had dropped out of Brown. He was a friend through Benny and Collins, and the one who had suggested Mark move in with them if he was so set on dropping out. He was the one who had pointed out that although they lacked space four people paying rent was much easier to manage than three. He had let Mark latch onto him for his first month or so, allowed Mark to follow him to his gigs, let him film him while he played guitar.

They were best friends even before the cocaine, before April, before the disease. Taking care of Roger and in turn being taken care of were the constants. Even when Roger was going through his worst days he still made Mark feel needed and safe. On the way back from his second HIV test, after finding he was indeed positive Roger had decked a guy who tried to mug Mark, knocking out two of the guy's teeth. Sure, maybe it was partly to do with the results but it was something. Mark hid behind his camera, he was the watcher. Roger was the doer. Mark loved Roger for that. He was going to miss that when Roger was gone.

'_I'll live.'_

Mark's heart felt ready to explode as one of the young men stood up and began to sing. His words undulated through Mark's mind as clearly as Roger's had. They were hesitant and questioning, and completely Roger.

"_Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow, from this nightmare?_"

He clutched his camera as the rest of the group began to stand and sing the verse over and over again. It was amazing to see all of the damned people so hopeful and so honest.

He trained his camera on Collins and Angel just in time to see the door to the room open. He kept his camera focused on the door, who was the new arrival. He recognized the long hair, the leather jacket, and the slouching stance very quickly. He lowered his camera slowly, a tear running down his cheek. Most of life was perfectly acceptable to be viewed through his camera, but this Mark had to see for himself.

He watched as Roger Davis slowly walked down the aisle between the rows of seating, his voice joining the multitude of people already there, blending perfectly. He was one of them, Mark realized. Mark himself was the outsider.

Collins and Angel each wrapped an arm around Roger as he joined them. He looked vaguely uncomfortable, but he was trying.

Mark saw it then. He was the outsider. He really was. All of these people knew what life really was. They were living every day much fuller than Mark possibly could. They all knew that they were going through the inevitable last years. They were all on the road to death. It really hit him then, Roger was dying. He looked at the rocker and found Roger's gaze on him. He'd lost the sad look which had claimed his face earlier that morning. He looked like he'd found something, though he wasn't quite sure what it was. Maybe it was acceptance.

Mark had to put down his camera more often. He had to start living and enjoying the moments with Roger more. He had to get in the moments with Roger, Collins and Angel while he had the chance.

'_I'll live.'_

No Roger, Mark thought sadly, you won't.

I will.

A/N: I have had this idea floating around in my head for two weeks and finally, _finally_ had no papers to do- well, none that are due immediately anyway. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, or if you absolutely hated it (I welcome flames), I want to know so click on the little review button at the bottom of the page.

This is my first RENT fic so I really want to know what people think. I love to work off of little moments in the play/movie so this is kind of a check to see if that works in this fandom. I like to drive on emotions and most of my stuff is gen-fic, but let me know what you want to read or what you think of this.

Thanks,

Hotshot


	2. Roger Davis

Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson owns the wonderful characters. Someone else owns the script I'm sure. I promise I'm not making any money off of this, just encouraging my growth as a writer.

I'll Live

(Part Two)

Hotshot

When Mark had come in the previous night Roger had locked himself in his room. He had ignored the light knocking on his door. Mark knew he wasn't asleep but Roger knew the filmmaker would go away eventually. When he could hear the blonde's light snoring he made his way back out into their living room. He sat on the table with his guitar and strummed notes that were imprinted in the back of his mind.

He made coffee once the sun came up and settled onto the bench along the picture window with a steaming mug. He sipped it slowly as he stared out at the already-bustling East Village below. His focus was on the moving city below so much that he did not hear the filmmaker moving around the loft until he voiced his greeting.

"Hey."

Roger looked up mumbling, "Hey." His voice was bordering on sounding tired.

Mark mumbled something back and took a seat in front of him. Roger kept a close eye on his roommate. He knew what was coming, he'd known Mark far too long to think he would take the rather obvious hint Roger had given last night.

When Mark did finally speak he sounded cautious, "Look… about last night-"

Maybe, just maybe, he could stop this right here, "I don't want to talk about it." He tilted his head slightly and gave Mark a look.

Mark stared right back. "You know Mimi's gonna be at Maureen's show tonight," Mark suggested, "You should come too. I'd hate to see you pass up something that could be good for you."

Roger swallowed hard. Mark just did not get it. He couldn't. He had to hand it to his friend though; he knew just how to get under Roger's skin.

"You'll only regret it," Mark said.

Roger shook his head. That was low. He replied with a slightly cynical tone, "I'll live."

There was a short, awkward silence that passed between the two of them then.

Mark stood up. He had his coat on and his bag over his shoulder. Roger realized he must be heading out, back to Life Support with Collins and Angel. He vaguely remembered Mark muttering something about it through his door the night before.

"Right." Mark turned and walked away.

It took a moment but Roger finally realized why there had been tightness in Mark's voice. It hit him as the loft door slid shut. Oh fuck. That had been a stupid thing to say. He bit his lip as he stared out the window to watch Mark leave the building. The blonde seemed to be talking to himself and for a moment Roger considered leaning out the window and yelling down to him.

_I'll live._

That was the truth, wasn't it? Roger wasn't going to live. Sure, he had a few good years left in him. His HIV wasn't all that advanced yet and he lived as healthy as he could under the circumstances. But eventually it was going to creep up on him. He shuddered as he remembered Collins being sick a year ago. The very thought of it terrified him.

A year ago this would have been easier. He would have had April.

April. Ha. As he looked around the loft the memories came back to him. His breath hitched in his throat as he looked at the open bathroom door. He'd been out with Mark, down at CBGB's talking to the manager about a gig Mark was going to film. It was one of the first days in a long time Roger hadn't been high. He'd been itching for a hit though, and almost ran back the loft. April always had something.

He'd known something was wrong the moment he stepped into the loft, it was too quiet. April was never quiet. She was always singing, or yelling, or playing the radio too loud. The loft was absolutely silent. He'd yelled her name, checked their room, then Mark's room. Mark caught up to him as he started for the bathroom. It was a good thing too, because when Roger opened the door his knees buckled and he would have landed in her blood if Mark hadn't caught him from behind.

Roger had AIDS. HIV technically. He hadn't even found out until Mark had gotten him calmed down, after he'd sneaked out to get a hit, after he'd come back high and fallen asleep on his bed. Collins was there when he woke up, and Mark, as always, was there as well. Mark held a piece or paper in his hands. He'd been shaking as he handed that over. After Roger read it he wanted another hit but Collins was bigger than he was, and stronger. Roger hadn't touched heroine since.

_I'll live._

How could Roger have been so insensitive as to say that to Mark? Mark had been the one who had sat there with Roger through the worst of his withdrawal as Roger begged Mark to let him die. Let him go out and get a hit, let him go out and overdose. Just let him go. With this damn death sentence running through his veins it wouldn't matter. Dying happy and, well no, numb and high was better than dying in a hospital bed alone in a few years.

Roger wasn't really living much these days. For the past month Mark had been insistent. Roger had to get out of the loft. Roger did not see a reason why. He was perfectly happy in the large room they called home. It was safe. It was life enough for him. He had his guitar and his memories. Mark was always there reminding him to take his AZT, and Collins and all the others stopped by when they could.

He looked out the window, down at the street. It had grown busier since Mark left. Those people were living; they didn't have to worry that death was right around the corner. Watching them he got up off of the bench and grabbed his jacket and began to hunt around for a pair of shoes.

In the very least he owed Mark and apology. And well, Roger Davis did not apologize; this was as close as Mark was going to get. Somehow Roger felt it would be enough.

_I'll live._

He took his AZT before he left. Partly of habit, though mostly because he could hear Mark's nagging voice in the back of his mind.

He locked the door to the loft behind him. Last time they had both left and left it unlocked they'd come back to squatters and an empty six-pack of beer. The cold of New York in December greeted him and woke him up as he stepped outside.

He watched people on the subway. They all seemed so carefree. They didn't have to worry. HIV wasn't a part of their lives. He still couldn't believe it, and as he began to walk the sidewalk toward the Community Center he thought about her.

April. She was gone. She'd left him with HIV, a heroine addiction, and an absolutely empty feeling. That empty feeling had been filled by nothing; not Mark and Collins, not his song writing, and not his guitar. Nothing seemed to be able to fix it.

Until last night. The girl downstairs had just…

Roger sighed as he reached the front door and pulled it open. He would admit it; he had wanted her the night before. But to even talk to her again, and certainly do anything more than talk to her he had to tell her.

That was where it got difficult. Roger had not even told his mother about the disease. As far as she knew April had died of an overdose, and she was just happy Roger was finally getting off drugs. He never planned on telling his mother he had AIDS. He'd worked the conversation through his mind hundreds of times, and Mark, Collins, hell, even Benny and Maureen had tried to convince him to tell her but he just couldn't. His life in New York was completely separate from when he had lived with his mother. He couldn't hurt her like that.

When things got really bad, then he would let Mark call his mother, and then he would tell her. Until then he would say nothing.

But if Roger could not tell his mother how could he possibly tell this girl. People were scared of AIDS. She would hear the words and run. After all he had been through Roger doubted he could handle that. And even if she didn't balk right away, what could they do? She was a fucking S&M dancer for Christ's sake, Roger wouldn't disillusion himself and think she wasn't interested in sex. Even if she was willing to take the risk he most certainly was not. When she had just kissed him the night before he had panicked. If he was responsible for passing this death sentence on to even one other person he didn't know if he would be able to live with himself.

He sighed. He had reached the doors to the room where the meetings were held. Inside he could hear singing, Collins' smooth, strong voice standing out to his ears. He regretted coming and was tempted to turn around and walk back to the loft. They'd been trying to get him to these meetings for six months, but going in there meant admitting he was sick.

_I'll live._

Just as Roger was about to turn and walk away he stopped and really listened to the lyrics being sung.

"_Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow, from this nightmare?_"

Roger closed his hand around the door handle. Those words gave him some strength. He opened the door and walked into the room. No one paid him too much mind as he walked down the aisle, between rows upon rows of chairs. Mark noticed him. The blonde lowered his camera and Roger swore he saw a tear working its way down the filmmaker's face. He stopped between Collins and Angel. They both noticed him and threw their arms around his shoulders in a show of support.

Roger opened his mouth and began to sing along with them. He looked around the room. Some of these people he knew, and others he did not. From the words they were singing they all felt exactly the same way he did. Despite Roger's pain and uneasiness he could not claim to be any worse off than anyone else in there.

His eye landed on Mark, the one person in the room without the death sentence bearing heavily on his shoulders. The filmmaker was watching him. He met the gaze evenly. If he had anything to live for it was so that when he died the people he left behind, people like Mark, would think back and know he did not give up until the end.

The song ended and Collins nudged his shoulder while Angel hugged him tight with one arm. He managed a weak smile.

One step at a time.

_I'll live._

He would go to Maureen's protest tonight, find Mimi, and ask her to dinner.

He could figure things out from there.

…

A/N: So, this was totally supposed to be a one shot. But then you people had to go and leave me some amazing reviews. And well, I always sort of pictured it from Mark's point of view, but once it was written, posted, and reviewed, and then read a few more times I decided I had to write a chapter for Roger. I think the whole Mark thing came from me telling Anthony Rapp I wanted to be a writer and him encouraging it rather than dismissing it. I adore him even more now. I think it's a bit fuller now. Mark and Roger's thoughts kind of branch off in different directions at the end but I think I'm happy with how this came out.

I think I may have to stick around the RENT fandom for a while longer. There are a few more scenes I want to play around with. I definitely have a fun little parody about Evita's death that I am just dying to get down on Word. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and I loved that it got so many hits, so please show the same respect you did last time and leave me another review. I'm not quite sure Roger's voice came across as good as Mark's so I want to hear from you.

Hotshot


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